I can't seem to think of what to write. I think and think, But nothing comes to mind. It's as if I load up a website, And in big red letters, Flashing and bright, It says, BLOCKED.
Beneath the dark clouds, the wheat blows gently on the farm. I lie in bed and think about all the loud farm machines that will whirl into action at daybreak. But tonight, as always, silence is my best friend.
The saddest place I've ever seen, is looking out the window and watching the rain fall again on the green Meadows... Thinking about, what might have been.